Teenage Nightmare
by headlesshessian
Summary: Or, Why Canada Is No Longer Allowed To Play Truth Or Dare While Tipsy. Canada and England go out for drinks. Of course it's the exact same bar America and the Bad Friends are drinking as well. This cannot end well. T for Alfred's singing.


_I can't title things for craaaaap. /shot_

Once upon a time, I got bored in English. My teacher was droning on and on about Lucie Manette and her importance in A Tale of Two Cities, which is a speech all of us have heard almost every day since we started the book, and after watching Glee re-runs the night before, I had "Teenage Dream" stuck in my head. And then this crack-tacular nightmare was born. It was originally going to focus waaaaay more on the USUK, but somehow turned into mainly platonic UK-Canada banter. And a tiny bit of Franada for plotline's sake.

So. Yes. Read on for insanity.

Oh yeah, and I own nothing but the plot and the bartender. The lovely Katy Perry owns her songs and Himayura-san owns the characters.

* * *

><p>A Canadian and an Englishman walked into a bar-<p>

"Fuck!" Matthew and Arthur cursed as their foreheads smacked into the piece of iron.

"Who in their right mind puts a giant metal bar in an entryway?" Arthur complained as he walked into the darkened bar (the establishment kind, thankfully).

"I feel like a walking punch line," Matthew groaned, ducking as he followed. "How has this place not been sued yet?"

The other nation did not reply, instead staring at a booth near the back. America, the Bad Friends Trio and Romano sat, with the three singles on one side and Spain and Romano on the other. Romano, unsurprisingly, was scowling. Alfred, seated on the end, casually glanced over to the door.

Arthur immediately jumped behind Matthew. "Don't let him see me! I've had to deal with him enough already and I told him I wasn't going out tonight," he hissed, panicked.

Matthew gave him the strangest look he could, given the fact that he had to turn to see the Briton. "But… you came out with me?"

Arthur flushed. "Think of it as an apology for calling you Martin the other day."

Matthew nodded, smiling thinly. "Round one is on you," he said, his tone making it clear that forgiveness for the offense would take more than just a round of drinks.

The two sat down at the bar, idly chatting about the next World Cup and who would win. After a particularly nasty dig about the Canadian team, Matthew (who had been scowling) suddenly gave Arthur a rather nasty smile after spotting something behind Arthur. The British nation felt his heart sink at his next words.

"Oh, hey Al. I didn't notice you were here," the Canadian said casually.

"Hey Mattie," Alfred returned coolly. Slowly, Arthur turned around to face the other nation. "I thought you were 'going to have a night in,' _England,_" Alfred stated, tone cold and arms crossed.

"I promised Matthew," Arthur replied weakly. The two glared at each other for what seemed like ages but was really only a few seconds. The bartender, a pretty brunette, broke the awkward silence a few seconds later, asking Alfred if he needed anything.

"No. Nothing at all," the American said, and briskly walked away.

"_Someone_ doesn't take rejection well," the bartender muttered, drying a glass and turning away.

"Rejection?" Arthur whispered.

Matthew took one look at the elder nation and began to laugh. "You mean you never knew?"

* * *

><p>After some awkward explanations-<p>

_"It's like... A little boy pulling the pigtails of the girl he likes to get her attention."_

_"Are you implying that I would be the _girl _in a relationship with Alfred!"_

_"That- that isn't the point!"_

_"Quit avoiding the question!"_

-and a fair amount of alcohol, the subject of Truth or Dare came up.

After a shot more for both, they were playing. And any college student worth their salt knows that playing Truth or Dare tipsy garners very, _very_ interesting results.

"Truth," Matthew giggled, taking a swig of his Molson's.

"Alright," Arthur said, placing his chin in his hand. "Er, who do you like?"

The Canadian nearly fell off his barstool laughing. "Who are we, a couple of pre-teen girls at a sleepover?" Abruptly, he seemed to sober. "Francis. Unfortunately," he added at the Briton's horrified look. "I mean, it's not like I chose to like him! It's just, after him losing me in 1763, and then he was so gracious after the first world war, and then he kissed me after the liberation of Paris in 1945, and he sent me roses every day until I told him to quit it after The Quebec Incident, and," he paused to take a breath, and Arthur patted his back silently.

"It's quite alright, lad," he said. And to break the sudden silence, he nudged the younger man, murmuring, "Your turn. I'll go with Truth."

Matthew took another sip of his beer, pondering what to ask. "Tell me how you feel about my brother."

Arthur sighed. "I was hoping you weren't going to ask that." He took a deep breath, looking over at the unrelenting Canadian, and began to speak.

"I never would have dreamed of doing anything when he was a young colony. That would have been wrong in so many ways, and- let's just start from the War." Matthew quietly signaled the bartender to refill the almost-empty gin and tonic. "He kissed me once, before everything began. I was getting ready to leave, and he grabbed me and kissed me. And then he was there in the Blitz, and I realized several things, and..." Arthur trailed off.

"Well?" Matthew prompted.

"I suppose I care for him a bit more than I should," the Briton admitted, blushing bright red and taking a large gulp of his drink to cover it.

"Awww," Matthew cooed, "That's adorable."

"Shut up. Truth or Dare?"

"Dare," Matthew said cheerily, finishing off his third beer.

Arthur smirked wickedly. "Kiss the frog. Full on the lips. For fifteen seconds minimum."

"Kiss Francis?" Matthew looked at Arthur, horrified. "But I'm not nearly drunk enough! I mean, he should get an inebriated confession of my affections while we're at it. We don't do things halfway in the Great White North," he pouted.

"Alright then," Arthur smirked. "What _really_ happened between you and Gilbert?"

Matthew turned bright red. "Full on the lips, you said?" he muttered in a small voice.

Arthur's smirk turned into a full blown grin. "For fifteen seconds. Go get him, lad."

He watched, as the Canadian shakily walked over to the table and Francis got up (as well as Alfred, who looked over to Arthur questioningly). Faintly, Arthur heard the Frenchman ask, "Is everything alright, mon cher?"

Matthew, instead of replying, grabbed Francis' collar and kissed the other man full on the lips as directed, violet eyes wide and panicked. head, Arthur counted fourteen seconds before the Canadian pulled away.

Surprisingly (or unsurprisingly, considering France's reputation), Francis grabbed Matthew as he pulled back and kissed him again. By the time Canada relaxed into the kiss, Arthur had made his way over to the table to see the spectacle and reactions for himself. America stared openmouthed in slight horror, whimpering something about his innocent baby brother. Prussia was cackling madly, yelling for "Birdie" to "get some!" while Spain was grinning goofily as Romano yelled that "Nobody wants to see that, you perverts!"

When the two finally came up for air, the whole bar was cheering. The two quietly murmured a few things in French to each other, and with a wink to Arthur, Francis sat down to the applause of his other two friends. Alfred slapped Matthew's back so hard that the other stumbled forwards. As quickly as he could, Matthew grabbed Arthur and dragged him back to the bar.

"I'd call you an ass," the Canadian whispered breathlessly, "but I'm going to Paris for a few days before I go back to Ottawa, so…"

"You're welcome," Arthur laughed.

Matthew's answering smile wasn't pleasant; in fact, it looked as if he would take great satisfaction at Arthur's expense in what he asked next.

"Truth or Dare, England?" he asked, smile still razor-sharp.

"Truth," Arthur replied warily.

"What's the kinkiest thing you've ever done?"

Arthur went red, then white, then plaid, and after finishing with his rapid color changes, looked back to the younger nation.

_That_ was an unwise choice.

Matthew had widened his eyes slightly, so that his glasses magnified the irises to an almost puppy-dog like largeness. He had schooled his expression into a mask of innocence, and Arthur was suddenly reminded of a pretty blond toddler in a nightgown. A toddler who he certainly wasn't going to tell about the incident with bunny ears, rope, and…

He shook his head slightly, clearing his throat. "What's my other option?"

Matthew lost his childlike innocence the second Arthur asked, grinning evilly. "Sing 'Teenage Dream' to Alfred," he calmly stated.

Arthur tranquilly placed his drink down on the bar in front of him and turned to face Matthew, who was watching him guardedly. "_ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR BLOODY MIND?_"

Matthew calmly smoothed an errant curl out of his face.

"You can make that argument. So… what's it going to be?"

Arthur waved to the bartender, who poured him a shot of vodka. He downed it and pondered his choices. On one hand, he could humiliate himself in front of Matthew, who would certainly save the information and use it as blackmail on a later date. On the other hand, he could sing to Alfred, humiliate himself in front of the whole bar, and use alcohol as an excuse, and it would probably die down after the next international scandal.

"Get me two more shots, miss," the Englishman called, "I'm going to be doing some impromptu karaoke tonight."

* * *

><p>"Ahem," Arthur cleared his throat, tapping the mic. The bar quieted, with most of the patrons looking to the embarrassed Brit sitting on the bar. "I just lost a bet and I'm being forced to sing." Matthew coughed something that sounded very much like <em>dare<em>. "So, please shut me up as soon as possible. Thanks."

"Who's it for?" the bartender called with a mischievous grin, standing near Alfred's table with a drink tray under her arm.

"Um…" Arthur looked down at Matthew, panicked.

"My brother Alfred!" the Canadian yelled, grinning. To Arthur's chagrin, the mic picked up the yell very easily, broadcasting it to the rest of the bar. Alfred turned pink, but smiled at the applause he garnered as he adjusted his glasses.

"Alright…" Arthur shut his eyes, cringing as he sang the first lyrics. "You think I'm pretty, without any make up on…"

The bar burst into laughter. Arthur continued. "You think I'm funny when I tell the punch line wrong; I know you get me, so I let my walls come down." Some soprano drunkard provided the high, "Do-oo-own!"

The personification of the United Kingdom winced again as he heard truth in the next few lines. "Before you met me, I was alright but things were kind of heavy, you brought me to life-" He remembered finding a small blue-eyed boy staring up at him with wonder. Shaking himself out of it, he sang the semi-true line of "Now every February, you'll be my Valentine!"

(Because Alfred had that odd habit of giving Arthur a Hershey's bar. Every. Single. Bloody. Year.)

As he built up to the chorus, the bar began to sing along, and Arthur gradually built up the courage to look at Alfred. The other nation was staring at him, blue eyes bright behind his glasses, and grinning dorkily. As his eyes met Arthur's own, Alfred made a heart with his hands.

"We'll be young forever," Arthur sang, smiling back as he moved into the second chorus.

At that time, the whole bar, amused bartenders, and people walking in off the street were singing along. Somewhere near the end, Alfred got up and amongst the drunken catcalls yelled, "I love you, Artie!"

Red-faced, the Briton sang the last chorus and slid off the bar, taking a bow and preparing to hand it back to the bartender. A warm hand stopped him from doing so, and the brunette behind the bar giggled as Arthur turned to come face to face with a broad chest.

Alfred grabbed the mic out of his hands and turned to face the bar, sliding an arm around Arthur's waist as he did so.

"Hey everyone!" The bar called back various hellos."So I'm Alfred-" he paused to let the cheering die down, "-and I'd like to sing a little something for Arthur as well." The bar hooted and catcalled, and Alfred started.

Arthur went white as the American belted out: "I wanna see your peacock, cock, cock, your peacock, cock! Your peacock, cock, cock, your peacock!"

The Briton yanked the mic out of the American's hand, tossed it to the laughing bartender, and dragged the still-singing American out the back exit into a quieter alley behind the bar.

Alfred didn't even make it to the chorus before Arthur pressed him to the wall and shut him up with a rough kiss.

* * *

><p>Go ahead, tell me how crazy I am. And please point out any mistakes! I'd really appreciate it.<p>

(sorry for the epic fail of an ending...)


End file.
